


The Art of Masculine Affection: Pranks, Tricks and... Midnight Wrestling Matches?

by Pastache



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Almost Crack, Almost Fluff, Eventual Smut, M/M, always fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastache/pseuds/Pastache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started small. It was inevitable. Thomas and Jimmy had put everything behind them, and found (as they’d found before) that they got along well. Far too well.</p><p>Jimmy had found an older brother to terrorise he’d never had, and Thomas had found someone smaller who could take as good he dealt. Evenly matched, perhaps. But that spelt chaos for Downton’s downstairs.</p><p>It started small.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jimmy had gotten into the habit of nudging Thomas’ ankle under the table whenever he made a joke only they would understand.

            “Well _I_ say Ivy can do what she wants on her half-day; we all can- it’s no one else’s _business_.” A pointed kick.

            Jimmy had been barking up this tree for _weeks_. Dregs of Thomas’ jealousy had faded into boredom; Jimmy was all chase and no commitment.

            “Be that as it may, James, no young lady of this establishment will be wondering off into the night- certainly not alone.” Mr Carson sternly put his foot down.

            Ivy piped up. “But I’m not- I’m only goin’ to the pictures an’ then straight back again. ‘s not my fault no one will come with me, an’ I’ve wanted to go for-”

            “Who in their right mind would want to see a Constance Talmadge film?” Jimmy scoffed.

            “I’d go-” Alfred better hope Mr Carson couldn’t hear him talking with his mouth full, “-but I can’t; I already swapped with Jimmy…” his eyes begged an excuse to break his deal.

            “I’d forgotten about that- here, I’ll go with you, Ivy.” Jimmy shot her a beaming smile and nudged Thomas’ foot.

            “That does not console me.” Mr Carson frowned and Jimmy’s smile dropped. Ivy formed a protest but went unheard- there would be no convincing anyone that Ivy was better off alone with Jimmy than alone by herself.

            “Not bloody fair.” Was Jimmy’s only comment on the matter.

 

Another day, another dinner:

           

“Oh Lady Anstruther an’ I got on just _fine_ back when I worked for her.” A nudge.

            “Good at gettin’ on with your superiors are you, Jimmy?” Thomas nudged back. They’d sat down to dinner after a ‘good’ day, which for the footmen meant no one getting shouted at by Carson, no family dramas to give them extra work, and an added air of mischief that stemmed from too long a silence.

            “Good thing I don’t _have_ to get on with you, then, isn’t it Mr Barrow?” Jimmy bumped Thomas ankle and shot him a smirk.

            “What was that, Jimmy? Sounded like ‘extra silver polishing please, Mr Barrow’, to me.” A fair nudge for fair warning.

            “ _Dowager_ Lady Anstruther.” Came Carson’s attempt at stopping the inevitable.

            “You only threaten that ‘cos you know I’m better at polishin’ than you are. All hard work, I am, an’ it pays off.” 

            “Practice from polishin’ your lookin’ glass, no wonder.”

            Jimmy didn’t wait for a nudge but kicked Thomas’ ankle fairly hard.

            “I’m not sure I like your meanin’, Mr Barrow.”

            “Oh I’m sorry, _James_ , I hope I didn’t smudge your _pride_.” He kicked back and as expected, a hard one was returned; nothing could wind Jimmy up like pointing out the obvious.

            “Your hair _reflects_ the light, with all the pomade and _polishin’_ you give it, you know. It’s very unprofessional. You look like a black boiled egg.”

            “I think that’s enough of that- James, Mr Barrow. Must I remind you you are grown men?”

            “Sorry, Mr Carson.”

            Thomas waited for Jimmy to move for a sip of his drink before kicking him hard enough he nearly choked.

            “ _Ow_ you-”

            “ _What_ is going on this evening? I don’t expect to scold _anyone_ more than once a meal.”

            “Nothin’ Mr Carson, Mr Barrow accidentally nudged my foot.” Jimmy punctuated this sentence with a sneaky tackle but Thomas didn’t let a glimmer of it show on his face.

            Mr Carson sighed. Not audibly; such things were impolite, but his shoulders slacked and he looked a little older for a moment.

            “Don’t let it happen again.”

            The meal resumed with idle chatter. Thomas and Jimmy took silent roles; both were intently focused on keeping a calm, mature exterior whilst under the table, battle commenced. It was too late for surprise attacks, but moving ones leg at the right moment, causing the other a failure, worked as well. After three missed attempts Thomas nearly smirked, until Jimmy caught him off guard, managing to get him on the bone of his ankle and sending a sharp look of pain up Thomas’ face.

            “ _Ha_.” Jimmy quickly recovered a neutral facial expression.

            “What was that?”

            “Nothin’, Mr Barrow.” He dodged a kick, and by now most of the table were aware of what was going on- the younger ones slightly jealous, and the older internally rolling their eyes.

            “Funny, could have _sworn_ you said somethin’.” Thomas managed to make contact.

            “I’m _afraid_ ,” a miss, “you’re mistaken.” Jimmy waited for Thomas to open his mouth before he landed a jab on his shin, a hard one.

            “An’ I’m _afraid_ -” Thomas didn’t get a chance to get a kick in, instead Jimmy jerked for a double-hit. Thomas instinctively defended himself and tried to kick Jimmy back at the same time; the wrong foot jerked out and he kicked Mr Carson instead.

            “Mr _Barrow_!”

            The table was silent. Jimmy smirked at his plate, smothering a snigger with everything he could.

            “Mr Carson- I’m sorry I must have- it was-”

            “I want to see you in my office _immediately_.” Mr Carson broke precedent and stormed from the table. Dinner had ended- some people hadn’t finished but still they stood, and Thomas, his stomach sinking, followed with his head bowed, shooting a glare at Jimmy as he left.

 

What followed was the worst dressing down Thomas had ever been dealt in his life. Jimmy found reasons to hover outside, and each time he could hear each word, clear as a bell.

            “A _disgrace_ to your livery…. When you should be setting an _example_ to the others… behaving like a child… I don’t _ever_ want to have this conversation with you again…” and then murmuring and it was over.

            Thomas’ eyes were fire when he walked out, and being greeted by Jimmy leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed, was no comfort.

            “Not a bloody word.” He jabbed his finger in Jimmy’s direction as he headed upstairs to lick his wounds, “You owe me.”

 

Later that evening, Thomas was taking his sweet time to perform his ablutions. After half an hour Jimmy banged his fist on the door.

            “What are you _doing_ in there, Thomas? Giving birth?”

            “I’m having a bath. Go away.” Didn’t Thomas usually bathe in the morning?

            “Hurry _up_ I need a piss. An’ I’ve got to wash before I turn in.”

            “ _Fine_.” The sound of water draining and after ten pain staking minutes of Jimmy pacing and glowering, the door opened, and Thomas- dressed for bed, smelling of hot water and soap- exited.

            “All yours.”

            “Took your bloody time.” Jimmy barged past, already stripped to his shirt.

            Thomas’ response was to reach and pull Jimmy’s braces back with his finger, waiting for Jimmy to half-turn before he let go.

 _Snap_.

            “ _Ow_. You-” Jimmy arched his back and dropped his towel, ready to fight, but Thomas was a step ahead of him and grabbed the two straps of elastic over his chest, pulling them back.

            “No- _Thomas_ -”

            Jimmy stepped closer and Thomas back to keep up the strain; Jimmy went to cover his chest, but it was too late.

            _Snap_.

            “That’s ‘Mr Barrow’ to you.” Thomas grinned, triumphant, and Jimmy scowled.

            He only let Thomas catch him with that trick thrice more (for ‘undergarments’, Thomas seemed to find Jimmy in them quite a lot), before he learnt to keep his waistcoat on in the evenings.

            Neither of them knew what they’d started. Yet.

 

Next time, they were in the kitchen.

            Alfred had started by prompting Ivy’s preparation for tomorrow’s lunch, and wound up entirely taking over from her. Thomas and Jimmy delighted in this- _Alfred_ cooking? It was as though the Lord on High had given them His personal blessing for mischief.

Thomas had come in to swipe an apple, Jimmy had followed, and a game had been agreed without words.

            Jimmy waited until Alfred turned back to the stove.

            “See the trick is-” _who was he talking to?_ Jimmy leaned over the bowls on the counter and took a pinch of flour from one of them, throwing it at Alfred’s shoulder before he turned back around.

            Jimmy sighed, “Ivy’s gone to the pantry you clueless idiot.”

            Thomas took a hearty bite out of his apple.

            “Oh- right.” Alfred paused, uncertain if he should wait to resume the lesson, but the bubbling pot called his attention and Thomas took his turn to match the white powder decorating Alfred’s tailcoat.

            This continued, and both were making silent bets over how long this could possibly go on for- or whether they’d burry Alfred first- keeping strictly disciplined on their sniggering, until Alfred turned around early, and Jimmy’s aim went a bit off, so Alfred would up with flour to the face.

            “Hey- knock it off- I’m tryin’ to cook here.” He sounded so _proud_.

            Thomas snorted and Alfred finally noticed the accumulation on his coat.

            “Oh, you bastards- it’s all over me-” he dusted himself down.

            “Wasn’t me.” Jimmy said as he gathered more ammunition.

            “Well it wasn’t _me._ ” Thomas added for good measure, sprinkling some on the top of Alfred’s head, where Jimmy couldn’t hope to reach.

            “Clear off- Jimmy, cut it out- I’m serious- you’re makin’ a _mess_.” Alfred might not be able to dress down ‘Mr Barrow’, but he glanced him an uneasy look.

            “What have you _done_?” Ivy had returned. “You’ve gotten flour _everywhere_.” She rushed over and Alfred shot a glare at Jimmy.

            “It wasn’t _my_ fault.”

            “Mrs. Patmore is goin’ to kill me- Alfred why don’t you leave the cooking to the kitchen staff from now on?” her anger would pass, but it had made its mark. Alfred was left with a twitching lip and a clenched jaw.

            “Well, nice seein’ you Alfred.” Jimmy followed Thomas out the door, pinching a final handful to chase him down the corridor with. Thomas caught on, and his voice thundered down the hall,

            “Don’t you _dare_ you little- Jimmy I’m _serious_!”

            Then the sound of Jimmy’s manic laughter and running footsteps.

            Alfred and Ivy shared a look.

 

A week or so passed. Nothing particular happened- but then, war hadn’t been declared yet. Opportunity, not motive, was required. And opportunity came in the form of Lord Grantham, trying to stride masterfully out of the dining room because Lady Mary had said something particularly ‘unladylike’, and fell flat on his face. Tripped over by none other than his trusty companion, Isis.

            Thomas and Jimmy had been every inch the perfect footmen, hadn’t so much as glanced at one another (though perhaps that had been a tactical move) and it had all been brushed over with a concerned word from Lady Grantham and Lady Edith, and a titter from Mary.

           

Until dinner.

 

They hadn’t had a moment to stop or reflect, and the slight humour should have washed itself clean by then, but as they sat Jimmy caught Thomas’ eye and grinned widely at him.

            They managed to sit in relative composure as Mr Carson sat and bid them eat, but once they had a plate of food in front of them…

            “His _face_.” Jimmy whispered. “Like he’d just seen the Queen in her nightie…”

            “Don't say a word more.” Thomas kept his head low to keep his amusement to himself. _Not again_.

            However, holding in laughter, like many things, only makes it worse. Jimmy was well aware of this, and let the conversation drop.

            So while normal, boring, everyday conversations bubbled, Jimmy watched as Thomas rearranged his facial expression, glanced at Jimmy and back down again, and brought a tight smile like a grimace over his face. Jimmy presented a little encouragement,

            “ _Wham_. On the ground. Flat on his face. His _Lordship_.”

            Thomas snorted, took a few sharp breaths, tried to take a bite of his food, and burst out laughing. He put his fork down and clenched his jaw but now Jimmy was sniggering next to him and every time one of them managed to get their composure back the other would break and they’d be back at it. Thomas was digging his nails into his thigh but it wasn’t helping.

            “Is something amusing, Mr Barrow?” Mr Carson didn’t sound friendly.

            “No, Mr Carson.” It came out strained as Thomas fought for composure; he cleared his throat and shook his head. Mr Carson let it go. The table noticed, but quickly carried on with whatever they’d been talking about- clearly they weren’t in on the joke.

            “He _fell_.” Thomas’ voice was so hushed Jimmy barely heard him, but it set him off again and he screwed his face up. Thomas couldn’t seem to help himself,

            “He was- he was so angry- and then he just-”

            They both snorted and bowed their heads, shoulders shaking, hysterics reaching fast for both of them the more they tried to resist.

            Mr Carson put up with it for around ten seconds.

            “Will you two be _quiet_ and stop sniggering like adolescents! There are some of us here trying to enjoy a _civilised_ meal.”

            That only made it worse- they fought harder and were urged to laugh double so- the entire table sat and watched. Jimmy clasped Thomas’ forearm, digging his nails in as hard as he could but it didn’t help either of them. Occasionally a hissing noise emitted from between Thomas’ teeth, and both of their foreheads were close to touching the table.

            “Be _quiet_. If you cannot even _control_ yourselves and behave like _adults_ -”

            They broke at the same time, and started howling with laughter, clutching their stomachs until they were capable of putting the lid back on- Jimmy wiping his eyes and covering his mouth, Thomas ebbing into chuckles and sighs,

            “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry Mr Carson- please- please believe me- we’re- we’re just-”

            They both met Mr Carson’s glare and came close to understanding what it might feel like to be flayed alive. They shut their mouths, shuffled, and cleared their throats.

            “Sorry, Mr Carson.” Jimmy added.

            Mr Carson’s glower didn’t lessen. The boys were _very_ quiet for the rest of the meal. Had Mr Carson understood what they were laughing at, it’s unlikely they’d have gotten off so easily.

 

            “You rotter- I could have gotten the sack for that.” Thomas chased Jimmy up the stairs.

            “Not likely- not even Mr Carson can fire someone for laughin’.”

            “It was bloody immature-”

            “As I recall _you_ were they one who got hysterical-”

            “You were just as bad.” Thomas paused at his door and shook his head. “You’re a bloody bad influence, you are.”

            “Oh, and what does that make _you_ , Mr Barrow?” Jimmy sauntered, actually sauntered, to his room.

 

Thomas closed the door behind him and started getting changed. He bit his lip. _Risky? Definitely_. He wasn’t even sure if Jimmy was still in the mood for that sort of thing- catch him at a bad time… _And what does that make you, Mr Barrow_?

            Thomas set his smirk and proceeded to Jimmy’s room.

            He knocked smartly on the door.

            “What is-”

            “It makes me your superior.” He hit Jimmy full in the face with his pillow. Jimmy made an ‘oof’ sound, and stumbled backwards. He darted to his bed, quick as lightning,

            “And you call _me_ immature you bloody-” Thomas ducked the pillow thrown at him but allowed Jimmy to scamper, stoop, and collect it, if only to hit him on the head again. Jimmy dodged and reeled back, smacking Thomas with the pillow in his face as hard as he could- Thomas started using his pillow as a shield, then used his height to back Jimmy into the wall of the corridor. Soon, tactics stopped being a part of the equation and Thomas’ memories of being a hallboy came rushing back,

            “Got you!”

            “Ow that was my eye- take _that!_ ”

            “Come on then-”

            “Is that the worst you’ve got?”

            Of course, this was not little boys pillow fighting. This was grown men. Two fairly strong grown men. So of _course_ someone was going to hear them, and of _course_ Mr Carson would come stumbling out of his room, tying his dressing gown _just_ as Jimmy’s pillow burst, spectacularly, over Thomas’ head, leaving feathers fluttering in the air around them-

            “ _What_ is going on?”

            “ **He did it**.” They both immediately pointed rigidly at each other. Thomas proffered his un-burst pillow as further proof.

            Neither of them had ever seen Mr Carson stuck for words before. The ice emitting from his person cooled their amusement considerably. Mr Carson cleared his throat. The boys dropped their arms and squared their shoulders.

            “I want this cleared up. _Now_.”

            “ **Yes, Mr Carson**.”

            He paused a moment. “If I _ever_ … you better consider your behaviour fully, and I leave it to you to find out if further tomfoolery is worth your jobs. If I _hear_ …” He shook his head. “If you insist on behaving like hooligans, do so on your own time and do _not_ interrupt my sleep with it.” He turned and slammed the door behind him.

            Thomas and Jimmy glanced to each other and grinned sheepishly. Thomas shrugged and headed back to his room.      

            “Hey, where are you goin’?”

            “Nothin’ wrong with _my_ pillow, is there?”

            “ _You_ -”

            “Careful.”

 

Now mischief was a part of the routine. It made the days easier- Thomas hadn’t had this much fun in all of his childhood put together- but here was Jimmy, offering him everything he’d missed.

            Quickly, squabbling became a regular occurrence; Jimmy forgot he’d only known Thomas a few years, and had only been friends with him for less than one, and a firm bond formed (as all strong ones do), quickly.

            “Hey, you don’t know who I was before I came here- coulda been anyone.”

            “You wouldn’t have been hired if Carson had had any doubts.”

            They’d suddenly realized they knew nothing of each other’s lives before Downton, and were making up lost time.

            “I wouldn’t have been hired _,_ if Mrs Hughes didn’t think my handsome face would cheer the maids up.” A small nudge under the table, and acknowledgement that it wasn’t _only_ the maids who had been ‘cheered up’.

            “Go on then- who were you? I know you worked for Dowager Lady Anstruther-”

            “Or did I?”

            Thomas arched an eyebrow.

            Jimmy shrugged. “Yes, I did. But before that… maybe I was a run-away… an outcast- no, a card sharp, a jack-of-all-trades.”

            “Jim of all trades doesn’t have the same ring to it.”       

            Jimmy rolled his eyes.

            Thomas relented. “What _did_ you do before Lady Anstruther?”

            “You tell me first.” Jimmy shuffled and dealt another round of pontoon.

            “I’ve never met her.”

            “You know what I mean.”

            “Worked for my father- clocks- nothin’ special, got up to no good, mostly. And you?” Thomas gathered his hand and glanced at his cards. Jimmy let out a long sigh.

            “I was a vagabond- a dreamer… a drifter livin’ on his wits, all alone.”

            Thomas tilted his head. Jimmy seemed to be very enamoured with these little fantasy worlds. “I recon the opposite; workin’ class boy, who wound up in service 'cos pretty boys don’t have other options.”

            “Who’re you callin’ _pretty_?”

            Thomas gave Jimmy a level look. “Look at you- never worked a hard day in y’life, can’t imagine _you_ workin’ in a mine or a factory.”

            “I might not be as _rugged_ as you- an’ I think you’ll find that works in my favour anyhow, with the ladies-” he paused, recovered, and continued, “but maybe I had other means- I’m smart y’know.”

            “A common thief then. Typical. Hit me.”

            Jimmy glanced up, raising his fist with a coy smile. Thomas gave a half-sincere glare. “It wasn’t funny the first time, just give me a damned card.” Jimmy did and Thomas sniggered.

            “What?”

            “You didn’t do burglaries by any chance, did you?”

            Jimmy glanced at him cautiously. “No-o. Why?”

            Thomas couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “’Cos if you did…”

            “No- if it’s another bloody pun I swear-”

            “They could have called you-”

            “Thomas, ’m serious- I’ll hit you, I swear I will.”

            Thomas pursed his lips. 

            Jimmy exhaled. _Don’t. Don’t you bloody- don’t-_

“Jimmy DeLocke.”

            “God _damn_ it.”

            Jimmy put his cards down and Thomas cackled, his head rocking back as he laughed, and was subsequently caught by surprise when Jimmy hit him in the face. A little harder than he’d meant to, clearly, because Thomas was so startled he tipped back on his chair and fell on the floor. When stars no longer swirled his vision, Thomas registered that his nose was bleeding.

            “You little terror- quick before it gets on m'livery-”

            “Oh my _God_ Thomas I’m so sorry!” Jimmy rushed to his feet, running over and helping Thomas get to his chair as though he were an invalid, whipping out a handkerchief to apply it himself.

            “Jimmy- calm down- ‘m fine- Jimmy for God’s sakes-”

            “You’re bleeding- I made you _bleed_ Thomas, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to.”

            “I’m alright- I’ve ‘ad worse.” He batted Jimmy’s hand away,

            “I know- an’ that were my fault too- I’m _sorry,_ I wouldn’t hurt you, Thomas, you know I wouldn’t.”

            He looked so _mortified_. The image of Thomas and blood was kindling too many memories.

            “I know you wouldn’t.” Thomas cleared his throat. “You’re gettin’ sappy now.”

            “Am not.” Jimmy sat next to Thomas and shuffled his chair closer, adjusting a stray curl that had been knocked out of place in his concern.

            Thomas cleaned the blood off his face. “Look- it’s stopped now- I used to get nosebleeds all the time as a kid- I just bleed easy, is all.” Thomas went to hand the soiled handkerchief back, thought better of it, and shoved the cotton square in his pocket before substituting it with his own.

            Jimmy picked it up and wrinkled his nose; “I can’t use _this_ \- it’s got your monogram on it.”

            “Don’t you know every nice boy has his initials on his hankie?”

            Jimmy snorted and shook his head, smiling a rare, genuine smile. Thomas mirrored it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late my life has been something of an explosion recently- never the less I shall try to get it back on schedule and upload every Monday from now on... enjoy

            “Thomas, can I ‘ave a word?” A week or so had passed- the only exciting thing had been Carson yelling at Jimmy for showing up to breakfast with golden fuzz on his cheeks (he’d been rushed in getting ready, apparently.)

            “Certainly. What’s the matter?”

            “Can I have a word _privately_?”

            Thomas put the paper down. “Everything alright?”

            “Yes, yes- just a… _sensitive_ issue.”

            “I’ll bet.” Came a voice from the other end of the room.

            “Alfred, I will hit you with a serving tray.” Jimmy turned back to Thomas.

            “Thomas, please?”

            “Of course- come upstairs, we can talk while I prepare for tomorrow.”

 

“What is it?” Thomas turned around once they were in his room. Jimmy shut the door.

            “You have to promise you won’t laugh first.”

            “Why? What is it- did you… you haven’t gone and caught something off some girl have you- ‘cos you know I’m not _that_ kind of medic-”

            “No, no- will you shut up?... I just… look. I never had an older brother, an’ me dad were gone by the time I needed it and now I…” Jimmy folded his arms and looked at the floor. “Will you teach me how to shave, please?”

            “…”

            “I never learnt, alright? Shut up and stop looking at me like that, you arse.”

            “Careful. Might want to be nice to me- I’m the man whose going to teach you not to cut your face off. And keep Mr Carson from tryin’ if you don’t learn to smarten yourself up.”

            “Shut up and show me.”

            “You’re a grown man- how do you not… have you not needed to shave before?” Thomas managed to keep his smile polite, with only the faintest edge of smug.

           “Show. Me.” Jimmy grit his teeth.

           “Fine.” Thomas turned his back as he gathered his straight razor, to keep his amusement to himself. “You do have one of these, don’t you?”

           “In a box in my room, yes.”

           “Well go get it; easier if you learn with what you’re using- I’ll get some water.”

 

They regrouped in Thomas’ room.

            “Alright, strip down to your shirt or you’ll get lather everywhere.” The command wasn’t questioned, and Jimmy lay his clothes out neatly on the bed.

            “It’s easy, really- first you sharpen it- you can use one of these, here.”

            Jimmy held the stone and looked at Thomas dubiously.

            “Look- back and forth, like this- you don’t have to do it before every time, but-”

            “How often do you shave?”

            “Mine grows back quick- every day if you wanna be as neat as I am… you’ll probably manage once every few days alright.”

            Jimmy eyed the sharp blade in his hand.

            “Relax- it’s easy once you get used to it; I never cut myself, an’ my father didn’t teach me neither- ‘ad to learn from watchin’. Lather up.”

            “I feel ridiculous.” Jimmy rubbed the foamy liquid on his face.

            “Now you hold it with three fingers, like this- y’can change it, depending on which bit of y’face you’re shavin’ but this works best for most things, I think.” Thomas stripped down and applied the same stuff; there was no better way to teach Jimmy than to show him.

            “Alright-” it was odd not doing it in front of a mirror, but Jimmy would have to serve as one. “Fist do the left side- here’s how I do it; tilt your head like this and draw the blade up _gently_ \- you should only need t’draw it down again after once- like you’re just scrapin’ the cream off… once you get the hang of it, an’ it grows in a bit more, you might need to do it a few times… yes, like that.”

            Jimmy went slowly, glancing in the looking glass on the side and managed to follow Thomas cleanly. Thomas grinned,

            “There, that was easy- now the other side…”

 

By the time they were done, Jimmy was as baby-faced as he’d ever been- he’d nicked under his jaw but the cut was so small he hadn’t noticed. He bent, admiring himself in the mirror.

            “That’s not bad. For a beginner. I think I’m quite good at this.”

            “An’ I’m an excellent teacher- now c’mon, downstairs, before anyone notices we’re not busy with the affairs of the house.”

            _Or that we’ve disappeared alone together._

           “My immaculate presentation _is_ an affair of this house.”

            Thomas tsked and threw the hand towel over Jimmy’s face, to get his hands free to do up his shirt. Jimmy shot Thomas a look as he removed the towel, adjusted his hair, and with one last glance, left the mirror.

           Thomas and Jimmy were in time for the gong, and if anyone noticed their absence, they didn’t comment on it.

 

The next step was significant. Because the next step was a conscious one, towards battle.

 

Thomas hadn’t been able to find Jimmy after dinner; he’d vanished into the either, apparently, so he’d decided to retire to his room with a book; Jimmy could always find him if he wished.

            But he paused at his door, his hand on the handle. He frowned, brought his hand back and stared at it; it had come off sticky.

            “Oh- _ew_ … no- _urgh_!” He wiped his hand on his trousers, thinking of Jimmy’s handkerchief in his pocket too late. “You little… urgh.” He closed his eyes, and tried not to think where the petroleum had come from, what else it had- _urgh_.

            “You are a _bastard_.”

            He heard Jimmy giggle from the bathroom. Thomas marched up to the door and banged his fist on it, grimacing at the bits he hadn’t wiped between his fingers.

            “Open up, I need to clean this- you little- _why_?”

            Jimmy opened the door, “Didn’t want you locking yourself in your room all evenin’, thought you wouldn’t manage it if you couldn’t turn the handle.”

            Thomas deliberately wiped his slimy hand up Jimmy’s face and through his hair.

            “No you- no Thomas that’s not _funny_!” He grabbed Thomas’ hand off him and rushed to the mirror.

            “Now you know how I feel- that’s disgusting. Clean it off my door.”

            “Why should _I_ clean it? It doesn’t bother me.” Jimmy adjusted his hair, satisfied he had resumed his usual gorgeousness, and breezed past, careful to avoid Thomas’ hand.

            “Besides...” Thomas heard Jimmy’s voice drifting down the corridor. “Didn’t think you’d protest at a chance to polish yer knob.”

            “Jimmy, I’m not goin’ to dignify that with a response.”

            Thomas knew he was going to have to get Jimmy back- re-establish authority. He just wasn’t sure how. Or when.

 

Little irritations built up- until Thomas found a weakness, and _how well did he know Jimmy by now: he ought to know how to irritate him, that was one of Thomas’ talents_. But he decided cutting Jimmy’s hair off while he slept was too far, even by his own standards, so he had to bide his time and wait.

            It was Ivy that finally sparked it, as it would be.

            “Yeah, well you wait- _Ivy_ an’ I are goin’ to the pictures tonight. Heh.” This was accompanied by an arrogant smirk, which Thomas did not much like, and Jimmy tweaking his bowtie, which Thomas liked even less.

            “Jimmy an’ Ivy…” he started. Thomas used to taunt boys in the playground like this, before he’d understood that he was _jealous_ of them (or for them), “sittin’ in a tree…”

            “Shut it.” Jimmy frowned.

            “K-I-S-S-”

            “I mean it, Thomas.”

            “-I-N-G!” Thomas jerked to his feet to avoid the thump Jimmy aimed at him, and was chased round the table with Jimmy getting more and more flushed the louder Thomas’ voice got.

            “First comes love!-”

            “Shut up, shut up, shut up you arse!”

            “Then comes _marriage_!”

            Jimmy glanced to the door and doubled his efforts, but Thomas started pulling out chairs in his way of pursuit,

            “Then comes the _baby_ in a _golden carriage_!” He paused, “D’you recon you an’ Ivy’s progeny will have brown hair, or gold like yours? Which do you think _Ivy_ would prefer?”

            Jimmy leapt a chair and tackled him, nearly knocking Thomas off his feet,

            “Shut _up_!” He withdrew and punched Thomas’ arm. “Me an’ Ivy are doin’ nothin’ of the sort, alright? I get it. No more talkin’ about her.” He huffed and resumed his seat, folding his arms. “She’s bloody borin’ anyway.”

            “’m sorry the nuptials are off. Should I send back my gift?”

            “If I’m not allowed t’talk about her, you aren’t either.”

            Thomas frowned. _That wasn’t revenge_ … something else, then…

 

 _Something else_ came in the form of Jimmy revealing something he really shouldn’t have. _Oh Mr Kent when will you learn; it’s better to trust your enemies with your deepest fears than to trust your friends with them…_

 

All day Thomas had behaved as usual. If he hadn’t joked around as much, if he’d seemed more serious- well, most of the staff were used to tomfoolery and welcomed the change...

            It was night time when it all kicked off. Thomas left his bedroom door open- something he was not in the habit of doing.

            Jimmy had shut his door when he started changing, a recent habit, as almost every bloke in the hall had complained of seeing more of Jimmy than they’d like to.

 _If Mr. bloody Barrow doesn’t complain I don’t know why you lot do_. Still, best not cast any shadows- not when it was all water under a bridge…

 

Jimmy hopped into bed, considering pestering Thomas for a game of cards- earlier he’d pled he was tired and wanted an early night, but he wouldn’t say no if Jimmy asked… He sighed and wriggled down he bed. Something was at the bottom of his duvet; Jimmy tried to kick it away, and it moved, so he lifted up the duvet and-

            A _shriek_ echoed through the attic of Downton Abbey.

            “Sn _AKE_!” Jimmy threw himself out of bed and ran out of the room so fast he didn’t register anything except the sudden light in the corridor. His heart hammered in his chest, his body flushed, and he tried to control his shaking. _I’m being ridiculous- there couldn’t be…_ Jimmy pulled his door shut and took a few breaths, trying to calm himself.

            “So help me… _what_ is it?!” Carson burst out of his room. “What the _Devil_ is going on, James- if you and Mr Barrow-”

            “ _Snake_!” Jimmy pointed at his door. “There is a _snake_ in my _room_!”

            Mr Carson’s magnificent eyebrows knitted together. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

            “What’s going on?” Thomas poked his head out his open door, as most of the other residents had.

            “ _You_ -” Jimmy spun and turned back to Mr Carson. “He put a bloody _snake_ in my room!”

            Thomas frowned and looked at Mr Carson warily. “I… didn’t. I did not do that.”

            Mr Carson put a hand to his forehead and muttered something about heart attacks.

            “James please go back into your room and allow the rest of us some peace- I won’t have the running of this household compromised by-”

            “I am _not_ going in there.”

            Thomas took a few steps forward. “Mr Carson, allow me to investigate. I’m not scared of…snakes…”

            There wasn’t a reply. Thomas eased the door open and padded inside. Jimmy- conflicted, because _of course it was Thomas, who else_ but _how_ and _where_ had he gotten it _-_ didn’t want to let Thomas inside on his own, in the dark.

            “Oh _God_!” Thomas made a noise of pain and stumbled backwards.

            “Thomas!” Jimmy rushed into the room, ready to fight, ready to do anything, and Thomas lurched and a great big _something_ landed in Jimmy’s hands. Jimmy screamed and dropped whatever it was, jumping up and down and stamping on it until it had to be dead.

            Mr Carson turned the light on and hurried in, Alfred and the others nervously gathering outside.

 

            “Well, I think you definitely killed it, Jimmy.” Thomas was lying on the floor, perched up on his elbows, (right as rain), as Jimmy stared at the _rubber_ snake that he’d been so petrified of. Thomas had a look on his face that made Jimmy want to slap him.

            “That beast certainly won’t be botherin’ you again.”

            “You bastard- you bastard- you _bastard- you_ -”

            “That’s _quite_ enough of that.” Mr Carson growled.

            “I’m sorry, Mr Carson.” Thomas stood and shrugged. “I saw it and bought it as a joke- no idea how it got into Jimmy’s room- must have a mind of its own…”

            “I don’t… I am too weary to deal with this _now_ , Mr Barrow. I…” Mr Carson sounded tired. “If my sleep is disturbed again, so help me, I’ll sack you both without a reference. Good _night_ \- everyone return to their beds: no reason for any late waking tomorrow… I don’t want to hear any more about this.” He shuffled back to his room and everyone followed suit.

            “No hard feelings, ey?” Thomas patted Jimmy’s shoulder on his way out and Jimmy shoved him.

            “I’m goin’ to get you for that.”

            “Careful- the _snakes_ are my friends- if they hear you talkin’ badly about me they might not take it kindly, and pay you another visit.” Thomas hissed over his shoulder for emphasis. Jimmy let out a hushed string of curses to Thomas’ closed door. He retreated to his room and kicked the toy across the floor.

            “…. Miserable, serpent-like man.”

 

_This meant war._

 

Jimmy considered the war as he sat in his room, tapping his fingers together in front of his chin. _T_ _his_ Jimmy could understand; rough housing and pranks, normal lad stuff- why couldn’t Thomas have tried this before? None of that sappy nonsense just…

           Jimmy waited, patient as ever, until he was sure Thomas was in the bath. He’d been preparing this one since yesterday evening, and he’d been so excited it’d had taken a while to get to sleep. But, see, there was a little trick for the bathroom door- _Jimmy DeLocke_ indeed, and if you pulled _up_ as you turned the handle, and pushed _hard_ \- easy peasy: the lock was useless.

 

He got the door open, Thomas turning to register his surprise; no one would _dare_ get caught with Thomas without his clothes on, so Jimmy running at him with a bucket was the last thing he expected...

            “Jimmy- _no_!” Freezing water and bits of ice cascaded over him.

           Jimmy left the bucket on Thomas’ head and sprinted back down the corridor, though there was no chance of pursuit.

            “ _Oh my God!_ You tiny toe-ragged little _bastard_!”

            “ _What_ was that, Mr Barrow?” Came Carson’s voice from the other end of the corridor.

            _“Nothing_ , Mr Carson.” Thomas leapt from the bath, shock freezing his skin, and slammed the door shut.

Jimmy, safely in his room, clutched his sides he was laughing so hard. _Let’s see how you pay me back for **that** one- I’m wise to your games now, Mr Barrow- there’ll be no more catching **me** off guard. _

 

Thomas came down to breakfast, and Jimmy asked if Thomas had found his bath ‘refreshing’. Thomas promised vengeance with a look.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early because I'm working tomorrow- lucky you!

Now that Jimmy had engaged the bathroom as an acceptable battlefield, he ought to have realised Thomas would one-up him on a similar thread.        

 

That evening, Jimmy had run himself a bath, the stresses of the day fading into warm water, and had jammed a chair against the door, just in case. Not that Thomas would _dare_ … he hadn’t counted on Thomas’ brute force getting the door open-

            “Mr Barrow- no! I forbid you to be in 'ere- you’re not allowed- not when I’m starkers!” He sat up and covered his dignity. Thomas kept his eyes firmly off Jimmy, and instead went to the hook on the back of the door.

            “No- you’re quite right- I’m goin’ now, anyway.” He lifted all of Jimmy’s clothes, and his towel, and disappeared with them before Jimmy could figure out how to stop him from the tub. “Enjoy your bath, Jimmy.”

            Jimmy sat for a few moments.

            “Thomas! Bring those back _now_!” There was no reply. He sucked in another breath, and thought better of shouting- not an easy one to talk your way out of and if Carson was summoned…

            “That bastard. I’ll do him in for this, I will, so help me…”

            He resumed his bathing (no good bath should be wasted), and let the air dry him a little. He crept to the door, and pressed his forehead against the wood. There was no avoiding it… and since when had Jimmy cared about a little nakedness?

            He glanced out, making sure Mr Carson wasn’t present- but the hallway was empty, though doors were open.

Jimmy shut the door, took a breath, and wrenched it open, sprinting as fast as he could down the corridor, arms raised above his head,

            “Look away now you _perverts_!” he addressed to no one in particular.

            He made it to his room and went to open the door in triumph- but it was locked. Jimmy’s heart stopped. He banged his fist on the door.

            “Thomas! Are you in there?! Get the bloody hell out of my room _right now_ and let me in! Open the bloody door you _wag-tail_!”

            Jimmy heard a snicker from inside.

            “ _Now!_ ” The humiliation was in being caught.

            “And what’ll you give _me_ in return?”

            “I won’t beat you to a bloody pulp or skin you in your sleep, that’s what I’ll bloody give you.”

            There was a long pause. Then the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

            “ _Please_ Thomas- Mr Carson’s comin’- an’ he’ll skin you as well as me if he catches us like _this_.”

            The door opened and Jimmy leapt inside, just in time. He kept his hands firmly covering all it needed to.

            “Now, get out.” He jerked his head at the door, relieved to see his towel and clothes in a pile on the bed.

            “With pleasure.” Thomas stepped past with a smirk, arched an eyebrow, and Jimmy just couldn’t let him have the last word.

            “Oh I’ll bet it was- you bloody – ha! _Peepin’ Tom_ , that’s what you bloody are.”

            Thomas’ voice trailed after him down the hallway, “Oh yes, that’s right Jimmy; the sight of your bare arse will give me warmth in the comin’ winter.”

            Jimmy opened his mouth for a repartee but nothing came to him.

 _Damnit_.

 

Jimmy started poking holes- quite malicious ones, wherever he could find a weakness. Thomas was getting too smart to be caught off guard, had even started locking his room so Jimmy couldn’t get him in his sleep. Jimmy recalled their conversation about clocks, and struck out with that as they played cards one evening.

            “Oh I bet y’were a proper little daddy’s boy when you were kid.”

            “Not hardly.” Thomas snorted but his jaw was clenched as he put the winning hand down. Jimmy shuffled slowly and re-dealt.

            “No- I can see it, y’see- the shinin’ love of your old man radiates in your eyes when you speak of him- such tender warmth-”

            “Jimmy…” Thomas dragged attention back to the game with a pointed gesture.

            “Was he _proud_ of you, Thomas- when you came ‘ere? Got a big posh job- I s’ppose you were close, must have been, the way you go on and on about him-”

            “Jimmy cut it out- let’s just play, ey?”

            “Did you ever tell him- about- y’know?” Jimmy had to admit that that was pushing it, but he didn’t know what else to do with himself- being cruel and making Thomas cry so he could… who knows; he felt like playground rules had been re-established.

            “Jimmy.” Thomas put his cards down and glared at him. “ _Stop it_. I’m serious.”

            “I’m only asking a question, aren’t I?” He leaned in. “Why didn’t you ever tell him- d’you think he woulda taken it badly- or were y’just _scared_?”

            “Well I’m sure he would have treated me better than _you_ did.” Thomas stood to leave the table.

            “That’s- that’s not fair. You know I only…”

            “I don’t want to bloody talk about it, James, so just…” Thomas shrugged and fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette, standing by the door.

            Jimmy felt like a bit of a prat. He went and tapped Thomas’ shoulder, leaning against the other side of the frame, folding his arms and looking at his shoes.

            “’M sorry- that wasn’t fair. I dunno why I said any of it- I shouldn’t ‘ave.”

            “It’s alright.” Thomas was looking straight ahead.

            “I think I was tryin’ to tell you I didn’t ‘ave a problem with it anymore- not that I ever did in the first place but I… forgive me? I was only tryin’ to push your buttons an’ I wasn’t thinkin’.”

            “No, I’d say you weren’t.”

            Jimmy frowned and changed tact.

            “Fine don’t forgive me- but I’m not lettin’ go before you do.”

            “Lettin’ what go-” Jimmy wrapped his arms around Thomas’ shoulders, resting his head on Thomas’ arm, and squeezed tightly.

            “Get off, you limpet.” Thomas flicked a bit of ash onto Jimmy’s hair. “What if someone sees you?” Jimmy didn’t move.

            “Nothin’ wrong with two fella’s showin’ affection- I told you, I’m not movin’ until you say I’m forgiven.”

            “Fine, fine I bloody forgive you, now get _off_.”

            Jimmy looked up at Thomas, looking down at him all haughty, “You mean it?”

            “Yes- you know I couldn’t stay angry at you if I tried, now give me my personal space back.”

            Jimmy let go and held his arms up in surrender. “There- wasn’t so hard, was it?” He snorted. “Don’t remember you mindin’ much about personal space when you came into my room that time-”

            “No- you’re not allowed to joke about that.” Pink rose in Thomas’ cheeks- Jimmy always had the winning card with that little incident.

            “Oh yes I am.” Jimmy bared his teeth, “Quite a nice dream I was havin’ too- but then you went and-”

            “ _Jimmy_.” Thomas stubbed the butt of his cigarette in his tea cup, bright red, “ _please_ don’t talk about it- y’know I’m bloody mortified-” _That_ part of the evening was the only bit they were able to joke about, but it was still a step in the right direction.

            “Were you thinkin’ to yourself, ‘ _Romeo, Romeo_!’”

            “Jimmy-”

            “ _Wherefore art thou Romeo_?” Jimmy closed his eyes, puckered up, and thrust a hand to his chest- a striking resemblance.

            “It was a bloody _kiss_.” _there, finally one of them said it out loud_ , “Get over yourself, Mr Kent.” Thomas huffed and walked to the other end of the room with dignity.

            “Oh I see- so y’just fancied some _company_ then, did you- you randy old goat.”

            “What was that?” Thomas picked up one of the silver serving trays which had been left out after lunchon. Jimmy’s eyes widened.

            “Nothin’. No- now- Mr Barrow…” Jimmy backed off and Thomas’ grin widened. “Be reasonable…”

            “Reasonable? Certainly. How about five seconds head start? Five… four… three…”

            “Thomas- no… stop, please- I was just…. You’re not _that_ old…” He turned tail and ran.

            “Twoonego! Ready or not here I come.”

 

Mr Carson stepped out of his office in time to see Thomas chasing Jimmy at a full sprint, serving tray held high above his head, with Jimmy screaming,

           “Oh shite oh shite oh shite Thomas stop I was only kiddin’ Thomas PLEASE!”

            He opened his mouth to chastise, changed his mind, and closed it. Pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, he retreated back inside. If either of them broke anything then there’d be Hell… but they should know better than _that,_ at least. Hiring new staff in this economy wouldn’t go down well with his Lordship.

 

Alfred tried to join in once, bless him.

            “Butt me.” Jimmy held out his hand and Thomas rummaged in his pocket to produce his lighter and the packet, not taking his eyes off the paper. He pushed up a cigarette, offered it, and Jimmy took it from the packet with his teeth, waiting a moment for Thomas, with his eyes still on the spread in front, to light it.

            Alfred scoffed. “You’ll be weaning the baby next.”

            “What did you say?” Jimmy’s arched an eyebrow at Alfred and glared.

            “Nothin’.” He realized his mistake. Thomas glanced at Jimmy, but didn’t lower the paper.

            Jimmy growled, “I _thought_ you jus’ made joke about my friend here.”

            “Come on Jimmy- I was messin’ around- you two always do it- I didn’t even say-”

            “I know _we_ do- I’m _allowed_ to make fun of Mr Barrow. He’s my friend. If _you,_ or anyone else for that matter, say _anythin_ ’ about it- or so help me about _him_.” Jimmy gestured with the fiery end, without taking a drag. “I’ll give you a beatin’ you won’t forget to your dying day.”

            “Alright, Jimmy, alright- I was jus’ jokin’.” Alfred frowned, sour and a little jealous. Always had been a simple fellow, that Alfred.

            “I think Alfred understands now, Jimmy.” Thomas said casually, but a sincere smile lit his eyes behind the paper- only for Jimmy to see. There was no need to discuss it.

            “Yes, I gathered that too, you old serpent.” Another pointed look to Alfred, and Thomas let the insult slide, turning the page of his paper with a satisfied sort of smile on his face.

            Alfred didn’t try to join in again.


	4. Chapter 4

An uneasy truce had been declared in the slightly more sincere breed of friendship that had grown. So, Jimmy felt comfortable storming into Thomas’ room after the evening he’d gone to the pictures with Ivy.  
            “Can you bloody believe it?”  
            “You’re back early.” Thomas said, not bothering to lift his eyes from his book.  
            “Wait until you hear this- bloody Ivy… I’ve never been so nice to any girl before, let alone one I’m… an’ then she just- I mean it was all fine an’ dandy, I set the mood an’ everythin’- are y’listenin’ to me? Thomas?” He put his hands on his hips.  
            “Yes, Jimmy. Listening.” Thomas didn’t move his attention from his lap.  
            “And now what am I supposed to do- I have suffered insult, been left with heartache- or somethin’ like it, an’ now my best friend in the world won’t even lend me his ear- oh- woe!” He flung a hand to his forehead, slightly grateful for distraction. “If only there was someone I could rely on- but no- Jimmy contra mundi as ever- oh I shall waste away of loneliness!”  
            “Alright, alright, Jimmy you have my full attention. I just wanted to finish this chapter.” He put his book down and sat up, swinging his legs over so he sat on the edge of the bed.  
            “No- it’s no use- I feel m’self fadin’away- I may as well be dead.” He affected a fairly decent faint, lying on the floor with his eyes closed.  
            Thomas calmly stood and sat on Jimmy’s stomach, straddling him and giving his full weight. He sat comfortably as Jimmy struggled, going red as he attempted to breathe, while Thomas pulled out a cigarette.  
            “Thomas- Thomas I- get off you great lump.”  
            “What’s the matter?” He asked before lighting up, careful to flick ash to the side.  
            “Bloody Ivy, that’s what.” Jimmy grunted, a scowl coming to his face. He gave up on pushing Thomas off and let his hands fall to the floor. “She only bloody- well we were walkin’ back an’ sittin’ on the bench,” he took a deep breath to compensate for the temporary lack of lung capacity, idly flicking his fingers through his fringe. “An’ I made a move an’ she- jumped away, like I’d… I only tried to get me hand up her skirt, an I bought her dinner, and theatre tickets, and the pictures, too- it’s not fair. She broke the rules.”  
            “I think you behaved like a prime arse.”  
            “You would say that.” Jimmy huffed. “You’re supposed to be my mate, Thomas-”  
            “Which means tellin’ you when you’re wrong. Think about what poor Ivy felt like- thinkin’ y’were a nice decent bloke an’ then you tryin’ to get your leg over the second you were alone- it’s not decent.”  
            “That’s rich comin’ from you-” Thomas flicked Jimmy’s nose, “Ow you bloody- I am a decent bloke- did the decent thing didn’t I?”  
            “Decent blokes don’t expect rewards, Jimmy. You should apologise to her before she runs and tells Mrs. Hughes, cos she’ll tell Mr Carson an’ then you’re in trouble.”  
            “Since when did you care about Ivy’s feelin’s anyway?”  
            “Since they made you look like an arse- you’re better than that. You didn’t get short with her did you?”  
            Jimmy pursed his lips.  
            “Jimmy…”  
            “Alright, I did. A bit.” He gasped for breath again. “Thomas I’m feelin’ light headed, get off me…”  
            “Only if you promise to say you’re sorry- mend your reputation. No use people gettin’ the wrong idea about you- they’ll never forgive you if they do.”  
            “Alright, alright, just move, please.”  
            Thomas took a long drag and did as told, going to stub his smoke out in the ashtray and turning back to him.  
            “Jus’ lookin’ after your best interests, Jimmy. Besides- it may have all been a front- testin’ your manhood- she might’ve come around if you’d backed off.”  
            “Not worth it now, anyway.” Jimmy sat up and scrunched up his nose. “Bloody waste of time- I can’t be arsed if I ‘ave to put this much effort in… I only went for ‘er cos I thought she’d be easy.”  
            “And so you could get one over on Alfred.” Thomas reached into his desk draw and brought out a small bottle and two glasses, pouring and handing one to Jimmy, who took it and downed in one gulp.  
            “Urgh. I’m over the whole thing. Let’s play cards or somethin’- get my mind off it.”

Jimmy did apologise- as little good as that did- but he wasn’t pulled into Mr Carson’s office so that was a win. Maybe Thomas had been right.

Giving up on Ivy, and Alfred leaving, left Jimmy with little reason to spend any time around anyone else- thick as thieves didn’t come close.  
            “You’re bloody cheatin’, you are.”  
            “I don’t need to cheat, Jimmy, just accept that I’m better than you are.”  
            “No chance. I’ve never been beaten more than twice in one evenin’- you must be cheatin’.”  
            “Sound like you haven’t been dealin' with any decent players, then. I think you’re a sore loser, Goldilocks.” Thomas had a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth- they both liked the rough edge it leant him.  
            “And I think you’re a swindler, Basil Hallward.”  
            “Don’t hate the player, Gilda Gray, hate the game.” Thomas put down another winning hand.  
            “How!?- Captain Hook, more like Captain Crook.”  
            “Mae Murray wannabe.”  
            “Piker”  
            “Piss-master.”  
            “Snob.”  
            “Short-arse.”  
            “ _Old-man_ ”  
            “Do I hear reality calling- it’s for you, Mr. Narcissus.”  
            “Oh no, I think it’s for you, _Mrs. Grundy_.”  
            “Fop.”  
            “Flat-Tire.”  
            Thomas smirked. “You sure you know what that one means?”   
            “Alright, degenerate, then.”  
            “You little-” Both boys jumped up and Thomas managed to get Jimmy in a head lock before Mrs. Hughes intervened.   
  
            “Honestly, the pair of you- acting like school boys… that’s enough of that. You two have been a funny mood this last week, and if I’ve noticed… the pair of you better start behaving before Mr Carson snaps- Lord knows I’m sick to the teeth of it.”  
            “Yes, Mrs Hughes.”   
            Jimmy stuck his tongue out at her when she walked away.  
            “I’ve got eyes in the back of my head, James, I wouldn’t advise you to forget that.” That wiped the smirk off his face.  
            Mrs Hughes shook her head, as she approached the office, determined not to talk about it to Mr Carson yet. _He’ll kick off and then we’ll be in for real rouble… imagine playing nanny at my age, let alone theirs…_

Thomas forgot to lock his door. An innocent mistake- he wouldn’t have guessed Jimmy would be coming into his room- they’d moved past everything, but still- some lines oughtn’t be crossed.  
            Which is why he was taken completely by surprise when he was woken by a large weight landing on him, and something covering his face- material, a shirt or something, but before he tried to figure it out he screamed, certain he was back in the trenches for one unGodly second and struggled with all his might, grasping upwards until he heard Jimmy snigger.  
            “Got you now, don’t I Mr Barrow?” The voice was hushed.  
            “Jimmy- you arse.” Thomas said through whatever was covering his face- still in pitch black.  
            “I can feel your heartbeat from here- terrified of some ‘small mouthy blond’ are you?”  
            “Get. Off.”  
            “I can’t hear you- there appears to be something covering your mouth.” Thomas tried struggling again, his hands pushing at Jimmy’s shoulders and Jimmy stopped holding down the pillow cover to pin his arms down.  
            “Now what’re you goin' to do?”  
            Thomas shook his head to clear his face, looking up at Jimmy holding him down, moonlight backlighting his hair into a farce of a halo.  
            He tilted his hips, trying to wriggle out from under but Jimmy had him on his back, and just enough strength to keep him that way.  
            “You little bastard.”   
            “Admit I’m stronger, better and more handsome and I’ll let you go.”  
            “Never.”  
            “Careful Mr Barrow,” Jimmy leaned forward, his lips hovering over Thomas’ face, “I could spit on your face right now and you couldn’t stop me.”  
             Thomas scrunched up his face.   
            “Don’t. That’s disgusting.”  
            “Say I’m better.”  
            “You’re a little toe-rag that’s what you are.” He brought his hands together quickly enough to unlock Jimmy’s elbows and slapped his arms out to grab his shoulders, pushing him off his lap and shoving him aside. Jimmy wavered but put full weight back on Thomas’ chest to keep him down, drawing his legs up either sides to kneel above him, in some pathetic wrestling manoeuvre he’d probably learnt in the school yard.  
            “Ah ah ah- not that easy- see- I can top you any day.”  
            “You caught me by surprise- that’s a coward’s way of fighting.”  
            “Callin’ me a coward are you?” Jimmy let spit gather in his mouth.  
            “Don’t you-”  
            Something wet hit Thomas’ face.

From outside of the room, the residence of the men’s corridor heard signs of a struggle, low voices trying and failing to keep quiet- and most of them ignored it. Then, the squabbling got louder and the noises of protest more high pitched. Everyone’s ears pricked up as the sound of something falling to the floor and breaking brought a suspicious silence. Following a moment’s respite two distinct voices could be heard:  
            “I’m telling.”  
            “Don’t you dare.”  
            “Mr. _Carsooon_!”  
            “HE’S LYING!”   
            Mr Carson, momentarily roused from sleep, didn’t wake fast enough he hear the sound of a slap, but half flickered his eyes open and rolled over, mumbling something about not having any children.

The next day Jimmy had a small bruise under his jaw and Thomas had dark sleep-deprived rings under his eyes. Mr Carson noticed but didn’t say anything. They seemed to have ceased their bickering; they hardly spoke to one another all morning, and Carson hoped that would be the end of it. The mark itself was inconspicuous enough James could be allowed upstairs, and Thomas and Jimmy routinely ignored one another for the rest of the day.

The reason they ignored each other was more than a little embarrassing. They had resumed wrestling after Thomas had struck out and gotten a good hit in, and he’d used his leg to unbalance Jimmy, and then rolled them so he was on top, hair falling over his eyes as he pushed on Jimmy’s collar-bones, caught the wrist that tried to lash out and pinned the other to the bed, and then tried to get his leg over Jimmy’s hips- stop him squirming- Jimmy was bloody _fierce_ he was trying so hard not to lose- and as they’d grunted and hissed curses at each other, neither of them wanting to raise their voices, they both realized-  
            _He’s hard_.  
            They ignored it, pretended they couldn’t tell, obviously they were wrong this was just play fighting, but gradually awareness dawned that they were in their nightclothes, pressed together on Thomas’ bed in the night, groping one another, and when they’d started moving their hips together, pretending they were still fighting it had felt-   
            “Oh God I give up you win, you win.” Jimmy hissed and Thomas immediately pulled back, retreating on his haunches to the foot of the bed, and Jimmy scrabbled up. Thomas wiped his face and squared his shoulders.  
            “Good. That showed you. I’m the superior around here.” But the air between them was awkward.  
            “You wish. Next time I’ll… I’ll get you.”   
            Thomas would have bet Jimmy was blushing as he stiffly grabbed the pillow case off the floor, stepped over the broken lamp and shut the door quietly behind him.  
            The next morning they nodded to acknowledge each other, but neither wanted to be the first to speak- were they going to mention it? Talk about it? Neither wanted to- and itchy memories of what’d they’d done when they were alone- and what’d they’d thought about whilst doing it… both knew- or they would have if they’d let themselves, but neither wanted to admit it.                             The longer it went unsaid the more obvious it was.

“Mrs Hughes I want to complain.” Thomas approached her after breakfast. “Jimmy’s been oversteppin’ himself an’ I’m sick of it- he’s a little terror an’ he’s outta line.”  
           Mrs Hughes gestured for him to follow to Mr Carson’s office. “The last I remember, Mr Barrow, you were quite the pair together. You were giving as good as you got.” She shut the door behind them.  
           “Yes, well- I’m sick of it. I‘m the under-butler, he’s a footman. It’s not right.”  
           “And what did you hope to accomplish by talking to me about it?”  
           Thomas shrugged.  
           “I see.” She sat at the table and chair arrangement set in the corner of the room, and gestured for Thomas to do the same.  
           “Thomas- I may call you Thomas when we’re in here?” Thomas nodded, stiffly. “You can’t expect me to sort out any argument between you- I’m glad you’re feeling more mature about your behaviour, but there’s little I can do- I’m guessing you just wanted to avoid getting James into trouble by not speaking to Mr Carson- has something come between you two?”  
           Thomas frowned slightly. “I don’t want to be coddled, Mrs. Hughes.”  
           “Of course you don’t.” She let a moment pass. “But you’re both as stubborn as the other, and I can’t fix a tiff between you- I can help you approach James about it, but only if you’ll tell me.”  
           Thomas huffed. “That’s not-… we’re not-.” Nothing got past Mrs Hughes stare. “I don’t know how to talk to him about it. I don’t think he’d take kindly to me bringin’ it up ‘cos he’s embarrassed, but he won’t bring it up either. And I don’t know if we can carry on bein’ friends if we don’t talk about it.” That wasn’t what this chat was supposed to be about.  
           “Has he done something?”  
           “Not especially- not that he can… I don’t know what’s in his head, I can’t- if he won’t tell me.”  
           “Well then I suggest you talk to him- communication is key in any relationship, even a friendship.” Thomas looked at her sharply and nodded. “Find somewhere quiet where you can be alone and ask him gently- Someone like James has to be goaded to talk, not forced.” She smiled reassuringly and Thomas nodded again, and cleared his throat.  
           “I daresay this won’t impact your work?”  
           Thomas shook his head.  
           “Thank you Mrs. Hughes….” He stood and jerked his waistcoat back into order. “There’s no need to…. Mention this, to Mr Carson.”  
           “Of course not.”  
           Thomas nodded his dismissal, and changed his mind about something he was going to add, instead shutting the door behind him. Mrs Hughes let a smile come to her face for a moment. Playing nanny indeed- _they’ll figure themselves out_.

           “Mr Carson, might I have a word?”  
           “Make it quick, James.” He gestured for Jimmy to shut the door and sat back at his desk. “What is it?”  
           “Erm- well- first I wanted to apologise, actually.”  
           Mr Carson looked suspicious, but interlocked his fingers and nodded. “I see.”  
           “I’ve been foolin’ around with Mr Barrow, an’ that, and I’ve realized the error of my ways.”  
           “I’m glad to hear it, James. There’s a time and a place- and we can’t play at being children forever.”  
           “Right- exactly, right. And Mr Barrow he- well, he’s a bad influence on me, an’ he goes a bit far sometimes, an’ I let him an’-”  
           “Has something happened, James? Because if he’s-”  
           “No- no no nothin’ like that.” _It was a bad idea to have this conversation you’re going to get him in trouble._ “Mr Barrow’s been nothin’ but a gentleman since all that- apart from all the… shenanigans. I just wanted to say that- I understand it all, now, an’ it won’t happen again, an’… I…” There really were just some things you couldn’t talk about.  
           “Is everything alright, James? It’s not like you to have attacks of conscience- not that I protest your new outlook, but...”  
           “Yes- um- everythin’s fine. Sort of. I- Mr Barrow- he… we’re… well I ‘ave to…” he looked up at the pure fear in Mr Carson’s expression and cleared his throat. “Never mind. I’ll uh- talk to… someone else, about it.”  
           “Nonsense. I’m in charge of the male servants and any problem you have you can bring to me. If I can… help with it.”  
           “Just.. How do you go about talkin’ to a man about… somethin’- uh- about bein’ grown up and behavin’ correctly an’ all that- I mean I still want us to be friends but…” _grasping at straws,_ “because he’s my superior- I don’t want to talk out of turn.”  
           Relief flooded Mr Carson’s face. “Oh, I see. Well. No beating about the bush, that’s what I say- find a moment when you can have some privacy, and talk to him man to man- so long as you’re alone I think that there can’t be any harm in putting everything right- even if you have to be a little informal. Mr Barrow will understand why, and I’m sure he won’t be offended.”  
           “Right- because I don’t want to stop bein’ his friend- so that’s fine, that’s good- so long as we’re only friendly downstairs, on our own time.”  
           Mr Carson hesitated, making sure he wasn’t allowing anything that could possibly be used against him, but eventually consented.  
           “Precisely, James. I think that friendliness is good for morale, and I certainly don’t expect all of you to be islands unto yourselves… Mr Barrow can deal with frankness, I daresay, and you tell him I expect him to follow your good example.”  
           “Yes, Mr Carson.” Jimmy nodded and stood to go, Carson retuned the nod with a paternal smile. Jimmy cleared his throat.  
           “Thank you, Mr Carson, I don’t like talkin’ about feelings an’ all that- but I see it much more clearly now.”  
           “Not at all, James. That’s my job.”  
           Jimmy left, a frustrated grimace on his face. He hadn’t even said anything- now what was he supposed to do? Still, it was time to turn in, and he could deal with Thomas- and the whole… situation, tomorrow. Mr Carson had helped more than he thought.

Later, when everyone had turned in, Mr Carson indulged in a glass of wine with Mrs Hughes, as they sometimes did.  
           “I think we’ll be seeing a marked change in James before too long- no more of this silliness, I’m pleasantly surprised at the maturity he’s shown.” He handed her a glass.  
           “Oh don’t get me started on all that- he’s put Thomas in a terrible muddle.”  
           “What do you mean?” Mr Carson sat beside her and savoured the first mouthful of an excellent wine- well chosen.  
           “Oh nothing, only that he came to see me today- all worried- I think something’s happened.”  
           “Something’s happened?”  
           “Nothing like that-” she shot him a look. “But whatever it is, if he’s coming to me to help deal with it- well I only hope James won’t be too harsh with him- he can be so tactless.”  
           “James has shown the most excellent character, today he came and apologised for his wayward behaviour- now I dare say Thomas has been encouraging him, and that he doesn’t know how to deal with James’ new attitude.”  
           “Now Mr Carson that’s hardly fair- Thomas works hard, and I’ve never seen him behave like this with anyone- they’ve become firm friends, even after everything, and I think James has sent him on another wild goose chase- that boy runs away from his feelings and has left Thomas to pick up the pieces.”  
           Mr Carson made a small ‘hmpf’ noise, slightly affronted she could consider men like Thomas and James to be emotional. That just wasn’t how men did things. “I think you’re placing far too much faith in their choice in their behaviour- I can’t see any evidence of any argument, I’m sure James would have mentioned it- no, there’s no trouble between them, I think James is trying to be as smart as he can, to make sure Thomas follows in his footsteps.”  
           “There’s certainly something going on- Thomas isn’t as strong as James. He can’t brush these things off.” She took a sip of her wine. “I think we need to keep an eye out, make sure it doesn’t get blown out of the water.”  
           “I don’t think either of them will allow anything that may or may not be happening to get in the way of their work- certainly not Thomas.”  
           “Well, we’ll see.” She sighed. “You know, it’s funny, I never considered having children myself, not really- but look at the pair of us.”  
           Mr Carson chuckled and raised his glass in a small toast. “We’re certainly kept busy.” They drank and he sighed. “How about if I notice anything going on, I can talk to them both and wrangle it out of them.”  
           “Good Lord- that’d only make things worse- if I see anything amiss I’ll talk to James- and remind him to do the right thing.”  
           Mr Carson frowned but relented. “Yes, alright, on your head be it.”  
           “If the worst comes to worst, we can shut them up in here and make them talk it out.”  
           “We really oughtn’t get so involved- I know the wellbeing of the servants is the wellbeing of the house, but can’t we leave them to sort it out amongst themselves?”  
           “Well I don’t know. They’re both sweet boys, at the heart of them, and I don’t mind playing nanny if it helps everyone get along. Thomas has had a smile on his face more times this week than I've ever seen on him- I think it’d be bad for the both of them if they can’t sort themselves out." She smiled into her glass. "You keep up the ‘stern father’ act and I’ll patch them up from the other side.” She took another sip, “if it isn’t sorted by the end of the week.”  
           “Very well. And who are you calling a ‘stern father’?”   
           Mrs Hughes sighed, a smile on her face. “Ah- let’s talk about something else- we deal with them all day, we deserve to take a break every now and then.”  
           “Well now you mention it, I do have a little ‘idea’ I’d like to talk to you about…”

Thomas and Jimmy, oblivious to the higher powers keeping their eyes out, avoided each other, remained formal and civil upstairs, and both ached with words they wanted to say, and each moment of eye contact lingered longer than it should.  
           By the end of one more day of ducking and shuffling, Jimmy decided enough was enough.  
           “Fancy a game of cards after dinner, Mr Barrow?”   
           “Certainly, if you’re up for it.”  
           Jimmy nodded. “Good.” They returned to their food.  
           

Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes shared a look.


	5. Chapter 5

Thomas waited until the others had cleared out, pulling out his packet and lighter but Jimmy shook his head.

            “No, let’s play upstairs- I can’t be arsed to carry on being sociable.”

            “Alright.” It was a good an excuse as any.

            Jimmy turned and pointed down to Thomas’ room when Thomas tried to follow him,

            “Go change- I’ll do the same- and… knock. Before you come in.” It hadn’t needed saying before- knocking hadn’t been needed before, but this… Thomas nodded and did as asked, but the door was open when he got there; Jimmy sitting on his bed, deck of cards dealt.

            “Shut the door and sit down.”

            Thomas’ heart was hammering- but he shut the door and sat opposite Jimmy, taking up a hand.

            “So-”

            But Jimmy cut him off, “hit me.”

            Thomas handed him a card. This continued- the game- in silence. Thomas was close to exploding- wanting to start the conversation, but Jimmy wouldn’t- and if Thomas opened his mouth Jimmy would smirk some insult back before he could speak.

            _We have to talk Jimmy it can’t go back to how it was- for God’s sake_.

            “Hmm you’re gettin’ lucky tonight.” Thomas had forfeited the last few rounds, too frustrated to bother otherwise.

            “Or you can’t hide cards up your sleeves if you aren’t wearin’ any.”

            Thomas rolled his eyes.

            “Was that a challenge, Mr Barrow?”

            _Not even slightly- where did that come from?_

            “I haven’t forgotten what happened the other night,” as if either of them had. “I’m entitled to a re-match.” Jimmy dropped his cards on the duvet. Thomas hesitated. Usually, sure. But this…       

            “Scared, are you? Recon I’m gonna win?”

            _If that’s how you want to play it_. “I could pin you to that mattress with my hands behind my back an’ a blindfold on.”

            Jimmy slapped the cards out of Thomas’ hand and Thomas grabbed Jimmy’s wrist.

            “Careful. Don’t start a fight you can’t afford to lose.”

            They sat in a stalemate, both staring at each other with a little too much knowing, but then Jimmy pounced and pushed forward, sending Thomas backwards and nearly off the bed. He neatly swivelled, hand against Jimmy’s shoulder but Jimmy slapped Thomas’ face, then threw his leg over so Thomas was lying sideways off the bed, legs and head dangling off the sides- so he now had to fight both Jimmy Kent and gravity.

            “You bastard- that’s not playin’ fair.” Thomas’ cheek was smarting but he didn’t care, he just wriggled harder and Jimmy grabbed his wrists and pushed, straddling him and straining with the effort of keeping him down.

            “Since when did we play fair?” He growled and Thomas instinctively jerked his hips up. It was odd; Jimmy was already hard, and Thomas wasn’t going to be long with following if he kept this up- and both were very aware of it, but Jimmy didn’t move, instead moving his hips down and against Thomas until he groaned.

            “What’re you- we need to- Jimmy-”

            “Shut up- no talkin’- jus’ don’t talk about it.” He dropped Thomas’ wrists and ran his hands up Thomas’ sides, raking the shirt up with it and Thomas held his shoulders, stopping him, all the blood rushing to his head making it difficult to keep his wits up.

            “ _No_ Jimmy- we need to talk about this we-”

            Jimmy pressed his mouth and spoke against Thomas’ jaw. “Stop. Please. Isn’t this better than _talkin_ ’?” he moved his hips again and made a low noise in Thomas’ ear. Thomas groaned.

            “ _Christ_. You’re such a- such a damn- urgh.”

            “Exactly.”

            Thomas’ hand went to the back of Jimmy’s hair and tugged his head back, using all his strength to get sitting up to roll Jimmy over, hands on his cheeks, nails digging in a little.

            “ _God_. Jimmy. You- you little-”

            “Shut up.” Jimmy hooked his ankles around Thomas’ waist to pull him closer and keep him trapped, letting their lips meet only so he could bite down until Thomas pulled his hair again.

            “Ah you bastard- I think I’m bleedin’.”

            “No you’re not- worried I’m gonna win? Just say the word an’ I’ll stop.”

            How one could hope to ‘win’ at this was beside the point, presumably. “Oh I don’t think I will- I want you beggin’ for it first.” Thomas pressed his mouth along Jimmy’s jaw and then his neck, sucking a small bite-mark. Jimmy’s arm struck out and hit the bedside table before he pushed under Thomas’ shirt and dragged his nails down Thomas’ back. Thomas hissed and jerked his hips, grabbing Jimmy’s hand and pressing it into the mattress.

            “Losin’ your edge, Thomas? The haze of lust overcomin’ you yet?”

            “I could say the bloody same to you, you little shite.” Jimmy was up and rutting against him- it was maddening- a sudden explosion of frenzy.

Thomas lay on top of Jimmy so he was nearly crushing him, hand at the back of his neck keeping firm hold on golden hair. It kept his chin up and neck exposed and Thomas pressed teeth and lips alike into the skin until Jimmy’s squirming and hitched breath was too much.

            “Ah- Thomas- do it- bloody-”

            “Bloody what?”

            “Put your hand on my cock or I swear to _God_ I’ll…”

            “You’ll what? I think you’re losing _your_ edge, Goldilocks.” He shifted, grinding his hips up slowly, and Jimmy’s hands came to Thomas’ shoulders and squeezed.

            “You bloody- I swear I’ll- _bloody shite_ \- ah- come on, you know you want to touch me, Thomas. An’ I’m bloody tellin’ you too. Better do it quick before I- _ah_ change my mind.”

            Thomas leaned up on his elbows, one arm tracing down Jimmy’s stomach and then back up again at the last second, this time moving under Jimmy’s shirt and digging nails in on the way down. Jimmy groaned and arched his hips up.

            “You want me to do this?” Thomas challenged, cupping Jimmy over his trousers and squeezing, once.

            Jimmy glanced down, mouth hanging a little open, and looked back up, defiant.

            “Yes. Put your hand on me. Now.” It wasn’t losing if he didn’t beg.

            “Like this?” Thomas’ words assumed a smug smirk as he smoothed his hand under Jimmy’s cotton trousers and moved his wrist up and down slowly, forming a lose fist and dragging his thumb over the tip.

            “Yes-s.” Jimmy hissed and flexed his hips up, mouth still slightly open; he let Thomas press his mouth over Jimmy’s jaw again, the movements becoming kisses and Jimmy growled and put his hand to the back of Thomas’s neck, rolling them over awkwardly on the small cot and wiggling his trousers down far enough they didn’t get in the way.

Jimmy straddled Thomas, who was propped up by pillows on the bed, and leaned over so they were eye-to-eye, tugging sharply on the shorter hair at the back of Thomas’ head.

            “Faster.”

            “Gettin’ impatient?” Thomas groaned and Jimmy attacked his mouth, wanting to wipe the smugness from it. Thomas’ free hand cupped Jimmy’s arse and moved up the muscles of his lower back, dragging back down again and pushing him closer.

            Jimmy pulled a millimetre away to murmur “Not half as impatient as you’re goin’ to get if I make _you_ wait.” He attached his lips to Thomas’ neck and grunted as Thomas moved his wrist faster, rocking into Thomas’ hand and fumbling in the drawer next to the bed, not taking his eyes off Thomas for a second.

            He put a small jar into Thomas’ hand.

            “Do it.”

            “You or me?”

            “Me-”

Thomas opened his mouth-

      “Don’t say a bloody word about it.” He put his hand to Thomas’ mouth and pushed two fingers in to stop him speaking. Thomas was tempted to bite down, but he only grazed his teeth, and ran his tongue along the digits instead. Jimmy made a low noise, Thomas moved his hand to undo the jar, applying just the right amount to one finger, and between the two of them they managed to get Jimmy’s trousers to thigh level.

      Thomas moved one hand back to Jimmy’s cock, rough palm adding friction that Jimmy rutted into, the other moving back and pressing in slowly, waiting for Jimmy to relax.

      “Just- bloody- _ah_ I can’t- force it if you have to-”

      Thomas released Jimmy’s fingers from his mouth.

“This is goin’ to hurt if we don’t-”

      “I don’t care- that’s what I _want_ , now do it.”

      Thomas fumbled for more petroleum and pushed in two fingers, moving quickly, doing as effective a job as he could as fast as he could, adding a third, and Jimmy clenched his teeth but didn’t tell him to stop, just shifted on his knees to make the angle easier.

      “Trousers- take ‘em- bloody take ‘em off.” Jimmy’s voice was strained.

      Jimmy knelt up and helped Thomas get them both exposed, and wriggled up the mattress to line himself up.

      “If this is your first-”

      “’Course it bloody is.”

      “Then this isn’t the right position to do it in-”

      “Thomas bloody Barrow so help me this is how I want to do it.” Jimmy bit Thomas’ lip again- Thomas growled until Jimmy let him go, and shuffled up the bed so he could see what he was doing, lining them up. Jimmy caught his hands.

      “No- stop acting like I’m so bloody delicate, hands here.” He pressed Thomas’ hands to the mattress firmly and kneelt up properly to do it himself. Thomas’s hands curled to fists in the sheets as Jimmy slowly moved his hips down.

      “ _Ah_ \- oh Christ- _Jimmy_.” God, but he was tight- too tight; Jimmy’s thighs were trembling with the effort of holding off, and he put his arms beside Thomas’ head, gripping the head of the bed for all he was worth and watched Thomas go slack-jawed as he managed to get flush.

      “Oh- oh shite- oh bloody _shite-_ ah.” Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to tense up but _God that hurts why the bloody hell would anyone_ …

      “Jimmy- are you-”

      “Gives ‘hurts like buggery’ a whole new meanin’- give me a second.” He exhaled slowly. Thomas brought his hands to Jimmy’s hips and Jimmy immediately grasped them and interlocked their fingers, ignoring the stickiness.

      “I’m alright- I’m… I’m alright.” He moved his hips up a fraction and pushed back, Thomas’ wide eyes giving him all the prompting he needed.

      “Ah- _Yes_ I think I understand it- now. God.” He huffed a laugh and Thomas brought one of Jimmy’s hands to his mouth and kissed his knuckles.

      “God- Jimmy you’re- _hmm_ \- you feel-”

      “I know.” Jimmy managed to get a smirk to his lips. “Told you I wouldn’t be the one begging.” He leant over, holding Thomas’ hands to the pillow either side of his head, pushing against them as he moved his hips again. Thomas, powerless and pinned beneath him- this- this he could do- no rubbish-y words but… Jimmy hissed and started to find a rhythm.

      “Oh God- oh God Jimmy _yes_ \- ah.” Thomas arched his back and Jimmy pressed closer so their foreheads were together- Thomas’ hair was already messed over his forehead- they were both starting to feel sweat stick their skin to their shirts- Jimmy tilted his head, face flushed, and caught Thomas’ lips, sighing and groaning as his knees started to complain. It wouldn’t deter him.

            “You’re- the worst- influence.” He huffed and Thomas snorted.

            “That’s what you so desperately wanted to avoid- _hm_ \- tellin’ me?”

            “Ah, no- please Thomas- I can’t- no- we can talk about it- later.”

            “Mr Barrow to you. _James_.” He sat up, so Jimmy could get to a more comfortable position, one arm around the small of Jimmy’s back, guiding his hips, the other moving lower, forming a loose fist and Jimmy had forgotten for a moment how hard he was,

            “ _Ah_.” He gasped against Thomas’ mouth. “What was that, Lord Somerset?”

            “Mr. Gray.”

            “Mr. Earnest.”

            “Half-pint.”

            Jimmy jerked his hips. “No-good, over-handsome, smug, cunning devious _bastard_.”

            “ _Ah-_ Jimmy- that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” His nails dug into Jimmy’s back.

            “Jimmy- I’m not- oh- I can’t, I’m not gonna-” Thomas managed to remember to keep his voice soft, though anyone’s attention besides Jimmy’s was lost to Thomas’ mind.

            “I’m the same- I’m nearly…” Jimmy groaned softly and brought one arm around Thomas shoulders, letting Thomas use his hips and arm to help him lift and fall, one hand tangling his fingers in the back of Thomas’ hair, eyes focused on Thomas’ wide blue ones. This was enough acknowledgement, both more aware of the other than they’d ever been, and Jimmy watched Thomas’ mouth hanging slightly open as he managed to thrust his hips up a few times before whispering,

            “I’m- I’m gonna- I can’t-”

            “Yes, Thomas, do.” He lifted up and pushed down once more and that was all- Thomas’s eyes squeezed shut and his grip on Jimmy tightened- his whole body tensing as he made a strangled sound and opened his eyes to Jimmy smirking at him and tugging on his hair.

            “ _Oh_ \- _Christ_. Jimmy…” he panted and pressed his forehead to Jimmy’s, seeking his mouth and moving his wrist faster.

            “Now you- you- _ah_ \- keep goin’.”

            Jimmy nodded and bit his lip, flexing his hips against Thomas’ hand even though now the sensation must have been almost painful for Thomas.

            “God- shite- yes that’s it- twist your wrist like that- _oh_.” He arched his hips forwards, nails raking across Thomas’ scalp as he groaned and stilled.

            “Ah- ah- that was…” Jimmy paused for a moment, getting his breath back before he de-straddled and slumped next to Thomas, who shuffled over and reached for the cigarettes he’d left by the bedside.

            “Yes. Smoke?” Thomas proffered the pack.

            “Please.”

            Thomas smirked. “Told you I’d-”

            “Doesn’t bloody count- we’re post coital, now.” He took the cigarette from Thomas’ mouth when it was lit, leaving him to sort his own out. He pulled his trousers up, making a note to change before bed- but they were both sweaty and mussed and content; it could wait. Thomas was wrinkling his nose at the quickly drying mess on the front of his shirt. He glanced at Jimmy, cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth.

            “ _Now_ will you talk about it?”

            “Urgh.” Jimmy scrubbed a hand over his face. “So this is how great men get tricked into pillow talk...” Thomas waited for an answer. “Fine. I don’t feel like _that_ for blokes, but I do for you- that’s all that matters. There. I’m done talkin’.”

            “Will this happen again, then?”

            “Well we’ve been fightin’ and doin’ all kinds of questionable things- I don’t think anyone will notice.” He glanced sideways at Thomas, a coy smile on his lips. “Besides- I didn’t half enjoy m’self- you’re easier than any girl I’ve tried it with- if I wrestled any of _them_ to the bed-”

            “You little tease, shut your mouth or I’ll have you pinned to the mattress and pleading like lightnin’.” Thomas flicked a bit of ash on the floor.

            “Not likely.” Jimmy frowned. “Besides- I might need some- uh… recovery time- I’m not half sore… and _sticky_.”

            Thomas snorted. “I told you so.”

            “Shut it.”

            “Well, I enjoyed myself too, _James_.”

            “Mr Barrow.” Jimmy offered his hand

            Thomas ducked his head. “At your service.” He shook Jimmy’s hand on their little agreement and they went back to sniggering amongst themselves.

 

And that’s how it was. Business as usual- aside from the nightly tussling that inevitably became something else. No one raised so much as an eyebrow… although…

            “Are you alright, Mr. Molesley?” Baxter sat beside him, ready for a quiet evening in the servant’s hall (now Jimmy and Thomas seemed to prefer to seclude themselves, a quiet evening could be arranged), and put a cup of tea in front of him. Molesley had his head in his hands.

            “Yes, I suppose so. Just a little tired.” He smiled wearily and took a sip from his cup.

            “Have you had trouble sleeping?”

            “Something like that.” He sighed. “I just- I mean, I’m happy, that Mr Barrow and James are getting along- and I’m happy that it’s made Mr Barrow slightly less… himself. But… I wish they’d… I don’t know-”

            “What do you mean?” She took a tip of her tea, glancing at him.

            “Well you know what they’re like; bickering, play fighting, and all that. I just wish they wouldn’t keep me up half the night doing it.” He shook his head. “I mean- they think we can’t hear but I…” he didn’t catch the look on Miss Baxter’s face. “You know- they say the strangest things to one another when they’re arguing- and they argue a _lot_ \- and they seem to _enjoy_ teasing each other- but they _do_ say the strangest things…”

            Baxter stifled a laugh into her cup.

            “What? What’s funny?”

            “Oh nothing, nothing, Mr. Molesley.” She tried to keep her smile to herself.

            “There’s nothing funny about wrestling- it’s good, you know, a good _man’s_ sport- and I wouldn’t complain except that they seem to think the right time for it is when we’re all trying to get to bed- what, what is it?”

            “Nothing, I promise. Just… I find it funny, how seriously men take sports sometimes.”

            “There’s nothing funny about wrestling, let me tell you, it’s a very serious sport- not to be taken lightly…”


End file.
